


cambridge

by skaggirl



Series: this thing of darkness [2]
Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: :(, Canon-Typical Misogyny & Racism, Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, POV Third Person, POV Victor Frankenstein, Past Character Death, References to Addiction, and also Henry deals with a lot of shit for his skin color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 01:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16187444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaggirl/pseuds/skaggirl
Summary: Polyamorous Jekyll/Gray/Frankenstein Apocalyptic AU set during the uninterrupted ‘Perpetual Night’. Everything is dying but Victor finds life in friends new and old. A melting pot of indulgent themes + practical angst.‘Cambridge’ provides context for Victor and Henry’s complex (but also not-so-complex) relationship.[...] why do men like him fall in love with other men, love so strong that it feels indistinguishablel from hunger pangs? What defines perversion? What defines morality? Why could he not kiss Victor the very first time he wanted to kiss him, and every time time after that?





	cambridge

Victor Frankenstein enrolled at Cambridge University with nobody but himself to account for. This paved the path of a particularly exhilarating time in his life. In those days, he’d had little but a single luggage bag to tote and another single knapsack full of his favorite books—the ones which had introduced him to the science of dying, which evoked a passion for biology and all of the most curious procedures known to man. College had never been an impossibility to Victor. Though he was certainly built rugged enough to spend his days in a shipyard, he was also attuned to the ridiculous manners of society, his mind was drawn intimately toward great Romantic poets, and he more often read stories or solved puzzles as a child than he ever deliberately stomped in mud during wet days in London springtime.

He often figured it was his mother’s presence in his life which made him so apt to study the finer details of all things. Her simple elegance gifted Victor with an appreciation for nature’s God-given beauty. No woman would ever be so resolutely fine as his mother, though many women came close. It was soft, fragrant, mystical women who were created in the image of the Lord, Victor believed… not brash, corruptible men. Men like the snobbish professors at Cambridge merely gave him headaches. And so, naturally, Victor was drawn to his second-year roommate, who sometimes behaved as meekly as a woman. He was a soft person whose spirit was blessedly effeminate as well as masculine, and his mind was just as wonderful as Victor’s own.

Henry Jekyll, at first glance, was a sorry case. His admittance into the college was unsurprisingly controversial, though his work would far exceed the work of more esteemed chemists. Henry was young when Victor first met him, and his complexion exceedingly dark. Victor hated him, at first, simply because Henry was hard to like. Most men silently pitied him.

Cambridge men felt either disgust or veiled jealousy when they saw Henry. Even without him speaking a word of his own, they would tell stories of Henry’s upbringing, saying that his poor father was guilted into buying his ugly wog son a white man’s sacred spot in society. Of course, Victor thought this tale was ludicrous. Even when his relationship with Henry was strained, he understood that Henry deserved a proper education more than half the bastard scholars who claimed Henry could never properly contribute to their society. Henry was brilliant, plainly put. And—though he could sometimes earn himself a slap on the wrist—he deserved every opportunity his father could possibly buy for him. When Henry spoke, Victor sensed a poetic rhythm and metre in his natural tangent. His passion for the inner workings of people was entirely unmatched by anybody else at the school. Victor idolized him, truly, because he was a gifted thinker.

Given, it took some time before Victor could appreciate his new roommate. The boy Henry replaced had been green and thin-skinned, so Victor was not upset to see him go. But Henry… he was a completely different cause for anxiety.

They first introduced themselves when unpacking luggage in their small chambers. Henry was alone as he scrambled to sort his belongings into some tidy fashion, fearing scrutiny from his new roommate, and Victor watched apathetically with no intent to help him. They exchanged names, but Victor was not highly personable (as he rarely tended to be). Henry didn’t realize the hypocrisy in spiting Victor for being too nonchalant. First, Victor barely rose from his desk to say hello, and then he strongly objected to helping Henry with his luggage, though there was admittedly very little of it. Henry never asked for these things but he was offended not to receive them. Somehow, he found himself unable to hold back an audible sneer. Victor was cross the first time it happened, but took full offense after the second time.

That first argument was one of many. Victor often won, because Henry would get overwhelmed and have to distance himself from the tension altogether. They bickered much more frequently that what someone might attribute to a healthy relationship, though their bickering always seemed to nurture and replenish their starving egos. It was a battle for dominance between two assertive personalities. They were egotists who’d fought for their spots amongst other people who seemed to have life come easier to them. They felt most regular amongst each other, but also most threatened by the other’s likeness, and so they were constantly battling for dominance. This only meant that the quiet moments between them left disproportionate room for self-discovery of other types. Some nights, the two would coordinate their schedules so that when Henry was harassed on the walk back to the dormitories, Victor would be nearby to steady Henry’s racing heart until he could return to the hookah or the bottle. It was Henry who caused Victor’s enthusiasm for morphine, not because he himself was enthusiastic about it, but because Victor hated the sight of an intoxicated Henry. Victor wanted nothing to do with drink but still sought relief of his own kind. And Henry hadn’t been around to stop him the first time he’d tasted it.

Always a dramatist, Henry once attempted suicide with Victor at work at his desk beside him. He threatened to hang himself from the metal pipe above his headboard. Of course, Victor knew that his roommate had both their schedules committed to memory, and would not have planned an honest suicide so that Victor would fall subject to it. This was what it was like to match wits with Henry, Victor thought — never believing his silly ploys to manipulate others’ emotions. Henry could be hurt, and would aid his pain constantly through unorthodox means, but he was not suicidal. He had far too much to prove than could ever be achieved by taking his own life. Victor feared his homicidal tendencies far more than his suicidal ones.

When Henry became annoyed, it quickly turned to violent rage. Victor despised this part of him most, though there was something entrancing about Henry’s incensed expression spitting mindlessly cruel threats. Though they could both be quite pessimistic, it was Henry’s unique talent to slander when he was hurt. It was with Victor that he first threatened to take someone’s life… and Victor was first to believe that he might.

He and Henry were much closer friends at this time — companions in work and in everyday life — so Victor knew Henry well enough to know what motivated him: anger. Conversely, Victor was likely motivated by wonder and gratification. He wanted to be a great scientific conqueror. But Henry was grossly obsessed with revenge; he wanted to take everything from his father, to avenge his mother’s death. Victor was his only person. Where Henry had thousands of enemies, he only had one friend, and he needed that friend so desperately that he could never admit it to himself.

Without Victor, Henry had little stability. He could not always trust himself to think rationally. Sometimes he feared leaving college because, if they had not had some massive breakthrough in their work by then, they might separate and Henry would be thrusted back into his old life, except with the added hurt that would come from missing somebody he had once truly related to like a brother. Victor could not comprehend Henry’s anxiety, because he’d had a home and family before beginning at Cambridge. Cambridge had become all there was of Henry, and he could never tell Victor how deeply he cared for him, since he was two years older and much more adept at defending himself from all negative thoughts and attitudes that came to him. Victor had beauty, poetry, want, love… Henry had fear and need. They were quite opposite in that sense. Henry sought normalcy in an environment that was incessantly at ends with him.

When he began studying behavior modification, it was only intended to be a short-lived project. His serums began as fiddling, and he learned everything with his eyes shielded from the enormity of the work that he was doing. Henry could not foresee the grandiosity or the destructiveness of a real behavior modifying serum. It was in good nature that he wanted to better himself.

While they were mostly in secret, Victor learned of those studies soon enough. Approaching their final year together at Cambridge, Henry began to spend much more time in one of the school’s chemistry labs which, from a tender and empathetic heart, one particularly generous professor allowed him private access to after school hours. Henry would not be visiting home for the summer. Out of his family, which consisted mostly of high society asses with nothing more to do than get drunk and celebrate meaningless financial success, Henry had no desire to visit any one of them. Victor, too, would be joining him over the summer. It was to be the most productive time of their combined college careers.

Except, unfortunately, that Victor saw Henry’s faults when Henry couldn’t. Victor warned him that concealing the rage, trapping it inside him, would only leave it to fester and become a much greater demon than ever before. Victor would not try to stop Henry, but he would not encourage him, either. Of course, the other chose not to heed his warning.

When he and Henry lie together on the floorboards in their dorm room one night, side to side, trading the pipe from the hookah, Victor put himself in a fit of laughter like nothing Henry had ever seen come from him before. They’d been talking about their vastly different childhoods: Henry was confined to his bedroom most days, and so he had model ships or dolls. Victor liked crafting with his hands as well. He began reminiscing about his mother, whom he said was his favorite playmate. She would dress him in little girls’ clothing when he was small enough to be the size of a china doll, and she kept a portrait of him, Victor remembered, where they had posed him in a frilly gown and bonnet. This meant nothing particularly meaningful to him on a conscious level, but the subconscious thought that his adult self might be posed in a gown and bonnet made him absolutely hysterical. Henry suggested that Victor’s gangling arms would extend well past the sleeves of it. He would be such an odd woman, they both laughed. Such an odd, tall woman…

And this made them both euphoric. That simple act of letting go of their hurt inspired them to transcend the bounds of the unknown. They had known each other so long, now, and they knew each other intimately. So little was left to the imagination.

Victor’s raucous laughter steadied, eventually, and he remained grinning at Henry’s side. They shared a happy glance in each other’s direction. For once, Henry looked almost completely absorbed in bliss. He had no malice, no stress over schoolwork, no thoughts of home, and an entire summer of near freedom to anticipate. Henry saw similar relief in Victor’s eyes, though he couldn’t gauge why. And Henry deliberately chose not to contemplate the consequences of his actions when he reached out for Victor’s face, cupping his exposed neck. It could be a show of content comradery. It could be so many things, all suggesting an immense affection and a mutual understanding. But it was undeniably romantic. Victor felt that intent in Henry’s touch.

Victor leaned into Henry’s palm, closing his eyes and nuzzling Henry’s thumb. When the younger man thought to pull his hand away, Victor tugged it back with his own hand, nurturing the dark, heavy desire hidden within them. Then he thought to fall asleep just like that, but Henry patted his cheek and told him to get up because he’d regret falling asleep on a solid surface. It was perfectly in character for Henry to ruin a good moment with no explanations. Victor needed him to let his defenses down, if only for once.

“Henry,” he started. Henry looked at him with tired, terrified eyes. Nicotine could only settle his nerves to an extent. “I do not want any part of you to change,” said Victor.

The serums, he meant. They could do whatever they wanted to whomever they wanted, but Victor could not consciously let Henry change himself. His mind was too precious to abuse with chemical injections.

Henry placed his hand back on Victor’s neck, where it seemed to rest naturally now. Though this was the kind of debate he would typically get fired up over, he understood the sentiment behind Victor’s words. The only person who wanted the best for him was Victor. The only person he had ever cherished the opinion of was Victor.

So Henry abandoned his projects from that night on and swore to dedicate himself entirely to reanimation, his first passion before behavior modification. Then he implemented studies in psychology. He aspired to learn the complexities of human thought: where does the mind go if the body doesn’t die, or why do men like him fall in love with other men, love so strong that it feels indistinguishable from hunger pangs? What defines perversion? What defines morality? Why could he not kiss Victor the very first time he wanted to kiss him, and every time after that?

Victor took over harnessing electricity as a means to give life to the dead. He undoubtedly pictured his mother, gray with untimely sickness, perhaps being brought back while still lying fresh in her deathbed. Henry did not have the heart to tell him what they both knew: that neither of them could ever get their mothers back from where they had gone. Being the main source of hope in Victor’s dreary life, Henry only ever saw reanimation as a positive thing. He could not crush Victor’s heart in that grueling way.

They could no longer embrace each other after their last moment of vulnerability, and their long nights together grew shorter day by day. Though they spent nearly every moment of their summer together, the air was stagnant between them and they made no attempt to enrich what little casual conversation they made. While they made decent progress and had time for plenty of experimenting, very little actually changed in the world around them. It seemed as if the world had stopped for them in the summer… until everything was jolted awake again.

As it went: Henry was approached on school premises (unfortunately) by one of his long-time tormentors, a man slightly older than him who sometimes saw him across the dining hall and made sure to humiliate Henry in every which way imaginable. Henry did not know him except for when he was at his mercy. The man had no reason to hate Henry, except that he did.

This time around, he approached Henry purely to kick his knees in, landing him in mud that was kicked up into his face, mouth, hair, eyes. Henry had been wise enough not to retaliate before, but the physical torment had always been the worst of it. He allowed himself to experience uninhibited rage — though only briefly, but not briefly enough that he might realize when it was faculty asking him to leave the man alone, someone he was expected not to spit and punch at. He took his resentment out on the man’s ugly face, and hollered the entire time because he could no longer muffle the scream that was tearing through him. For all of his life, Henry had endured torture beyond measure and not retaliated, except for this one silly incident where he couldn’t, and he left two men’s faces purple with his own hurt.

Henry knew immediately that he would regret every action he’d taken. The men could recover, luckily, but the Headmaster had never wanted a foreigner in his university in the first place, nonetheless one who’d proven himself to be dangerous and willing to beat an innocent man’s face in. His father would despise him, too. Without a college education he would be even more useless than before.

Henry fled the scene of his accident in a complete panic. First, he carried himself to the baths, where he washed the dirt and blood from himself. The journey to their dormitory was long and cold after that.

Because it was night, Victor was in their room when Henry arrived.

At first, he didn’t look at Henry to see him soaked, shivering, and with a glaze of sheer horror covering his face. When Victor finally did see Henry he seemed to immediately understand. Henry said his name and Victor came to him with a blanket that he wrapped around his shoulders then guided him toward his bed with.

“I’m so sorry, Victor.” Henry was frozen in astonishment, both at his achievement and at how quickly his day had turned away from him. Victor took his hand like he might do to comfort an ailing brother.

“What do you have to be sorry about?”

“I ruined it all, old boy.” Even using their familiar nickname, Henry feared most of all that he had disappointed Victor. “Christ, I ruined it all... I attacked two men. One was a faculty member. They’re not dead, but they will want me to leave the college. I’m sure of it.” Victor’s face contorted into something disbelieving. He refused to accept grim news such as that. Henry was impulsive, surely, but his actions were never without reason.

“Can you be so sure if nobody has told you anything?”

Henry assured him, yes. There was only one man who looked and spoke like him on school grounds. The target on him was immense. Victor could not possibly understand this narrow threshold Henry was given for error, not only as a student but as his father’s son. He would be punished, in some way, inevitably—and that meant letting go of everything he’d been chasing these past years of his life. He simply was not allowed to make mistakes, and he had finally made one.

Victor took a long minute to process it all. He’d never imagined graduating without Henry by his side. They both had set a mission to prove the people all around them wrong. Yes, Victor needed a degree, but Henry needed a degree just the same. They needed proof of their worth and capability so that they might earn due respect for their work. This had been the plan since their very beginning.

Despite all the irrational worrying, Victor could only think of a solution. They could not sit and wallow in self-pity, especially not Henry. Regardless of what had happened, which he still did not fully understand, Victor wholeheartedly believed Henry was in the right and deserved to be proud of himself. A night like this might ruin everything they’d built together.

Victor hesitated briefly before suggesting, “Why don’t we have a picnic?” Henry was baffled by it, naturally, but Victor clarified. “Instead of class, to keep your mind off worrying. And beside the point: if they’re going to make you leave, I’d rather spend the day with you than not get to say a proper goodbye.”

Henry smiled an impossible smile. Victor’s hidden thoughtfulness, as always, shined through his aggressive coldness. Still, they could not completely run away from the issue.

“I am not sure how long I have left. We may not even have a tomorrow morning.”

“Of course,” Victor sighed, but he perked up quickly. “Then we shall go now, and sleep under the stars.” Henry smirked at him, though he gave no response. Victor feared that he was going to be rejected. Henry was known for being the impulsive one; for Victor to suggest something so ridiculous and irresponsible was a miracle in itself. He would hate to watch Henry suffer when he was willing to give up so much for him. School, success, belonging—all seemed suddenly immaterial. All that mattered for the time being was what time he had left with his one companion and truest friend he’d ever had.

Oh, Victor resented every moment of that summer that he’d spent with his back turned away from Henry. He wished he could have foreseen how fragile their time together might be. All he could do now was try to relieve the suffocating anxiety that came with waiting for bad news.

This idea seemed counterintuitive to Henry, because changing places would not grant them any more time than they already had. Still, he wanted nothing more than to share Victor’s warmth under a black sky, in the relative silence of the fields outside Cambridge. It was a perfectly temperate night and meant for being embraced by dear friends. Yes, they would sleep under the stars, and everything might be all right. 

Henry agreed to the scheme. They bundled in thick layers to trek across the expanse of the college. Luckily, few of their colleagues seemed to mind what was happening at night, and nobody spared them a second glance though their long coats and scarves were perhaps suspicious for the early evening. No guards were posted to keep them in or out, and their giddy prancing across the lawn went entirely unnoticed. The two eventually settled where they could watch the moonlight dance across the manmade pond, where the most intriguing conversations might be inspired. The air was brisk as with the entire transition to autumn, but none of it was unbearable. Victor preferred the cold, though he figured Henry might be opposite of him. One was fire and the other was chill.

Once they were lying beside each other in the grass, Henry uncovered a flask he’d hidden in his coat pocket, which he passed first to Victor. As it was a rare occasion, Victor accepted the alcohol. Henry noted that there were few stars out tonight.

They never did have the conversation of why Victor invested himself so immensely in comforting his friend. Nor did they talk about why Henry came to Victor foremost when he was ridden by anxiety. Few people might understand the motivations of two men asleep upon the grass together, but they had never been too concerned with the approval of others. An adventurer had always resided inside Victor and it was struggling with not doing the dozen things it wanted to do that were considered indecent by the rest of society.

“Where will you go if you must leave?” Victor eventually asked. _Home_ was all that Henry could offer.

“Do you want to be with your father?” Victor asked again.

Henry chuckled. “It hardly matters what I want, does it not?” Victor felt very tense as, for the first time, he felt nothing but absolute sympathy for Henry. He would never tell because Henry would never accept—he could care for himself—but Victor wanted to make Henry absolutely happy, if ever he could. (Unfortunately, that much was Henry’s responsibility.)

“What would you have if you could?”

The younger man was astonished that he was being asked this question. Few people had ever honestly cared to know what he wanted. “I’m not sure,” he answered truthfully.

Victor understood where he’d taken this conversation, what boundaries he’d broken down that could not be reformed. As it was when Henry took him in hand before, he now had intentions that were more than friendly. That realization didn’t frighten him. He could either broach the topic or avoid it and risk losing Henry, every bit of him, oblivious to their truth. He settled with something quite indirect but also intentional:

“Have you ever been in love with a person?”

Henry shivered as if he had no coats or scarves to protect him. That was how they were now: exposed. Without the walls of their room, the wood of their floor, the distance between their beds, they had nothing but vulnerable, mutable space. Henry made a sour expression, for reasons he couldn’t explain even to himself… but he considered if he had ever been in love, and he said, “Yes.”

He hid his face by bowing his neck down and looking only at his lap. It was no use—he knew that Victor could hear the struggle he suppressed beneath his confident words. 

Victor looked to the sky and the few stars, hoping on them all that something might be made easier. “Were your feelings returned?” he continued.

A gasp from Henry served as some audible account of his muffled pain. Victor needed not words unsaid but actions. All he could ask out of Henry was honesty. That would give them a sense of finality, if this was truly to be the end of it.

But, miraculously, Henry did answer him. He said, “I wish it every day.”

Victor leaned into the other’s shoulder, pulling him into a confident hug unlike anything they’d ever shared before, all the while never looking him in the eye. Henry’s arms wrapped tight around Victor’s back and he allowed himself to cry wet streaks against Victor’s skin. This felt like finality to him: touching Victor so innocently. This summarized everything he felt, and yet was concise enough that nothing more needed to be said. They could say goodbye here and Henry could be escorted away from Cambridge University on charges of assault resulting in permanent expulsion. _This_ would be enough.

But Victor did kiss him. First his neck, then his jaw. Then Henry was surprised by the sudden show of intimacy, because he was sometimes unsure that either of them could even comprehend the subject of it. He pulled away from Victor, not intentionally but on instinct so he could better see Victor.

Victor leaned in to kiss Henry’s lips but hesitated, and then they hovered mere centimeters away from each other, floating around that space between them. They stayed still like that for a moment. Henry leaned his forehead against Victor’s, and they breathed into each other’s mouths. They tasted nothing but still were able to familiarize themselves. Victor rolled his nose across Henry’s cheek. Henry brushed his lips across Victor’s chin, tasting his own tears there. He couldn’t be sure if he was still crying or not.

Both were absolutely petrified… because they had not ever touched another person, nor wanted to be touched by someone in this way. Yet their actions felt remarkably natural.

Before they could truly kiss, Victor pulled away. He gave no explanation for what had happened, nor did he ever, nor did Henry need one to understand. They did not live in the right world to be doing this thing. So much was happening around them, constantly, and their tiny affections were miniscule things in the grand scheme of everything. They belonged elsewhere, in an ethereal place where time wouldn’t pass. Not in this small world where every single thing had its limit.

Circumstance had not allowed them to love each other properly, and neither would settle for anything less. That was the truth of it.

They slept shoulder-to-shoulder. Early in the morning, rowdy boys woke them and they did not exchange a single word as they walked back to their room. They woke again in the afternoon, in separate beds and bundled between sheets and blankets, when they had a knock on their door. Henry answered and Victor watched from his bed in the corner while Henry talked solemnly with an older man who was dressed in a faculty gown. Almost immediately after Henry said goodbye to the man and shut the door again, he began packing his luggage in the same case he first stumbled into the room carrying, nearly two years prior. 

The men exchanged looks while Henry moved about the room. Victor did not want to leave his bed, so he stayed lying on his side while his roommate prepared to leave.

Henry had never seemed so sure of anything as he was once sure of the fact that his life would not turn out as he’d planned. Even before he could confirm this, he understood that it was inevitable. Victor hated that almost as much as he hated watching him leave when it finally happened.

But Victor graduated regardless, and when he never received even a single letter from Henry, he figured it was deserved punishment for not being the one to write his friend in the first place. He could not comprehend what part of him wanted to isolate himself and remove Henry from his life completely. Without him, Victor’s final year of college passed by almost effortlessly. Victor had more freedom than ever to experiment with new technology—most notably the type that allowed him to utilize electricity.

With lightning came life, and the dreary scientist had so much more to dedicate himself to than he’d ever anticipated. His success overwhelmed him, to the extent that he fled when he made errors that he could not account for. And so his firstborn suffered misery beyond measure, and Victor punished himself with morphine injections. Shallowly beneath his skin were veins thick enough to cut like wire. All he wanted from then on was to be a better person than he’d become. Though he knew better, he convinced himself that he was helping Lily when he reanimated her, as he did when he made Proteus. Lily was a great big temptation that he could not resist. The part of him that hungered for adventure was intrigued by the thought that his first kiss may be with a woman who was not completely woman, or perhaps even more than woman. Victor thought not to limit himself from indulging in things he was not permitted to take. 

He wished he could have forgotten about Henry, but, naturally, he never would. He thought less frequently of Henry than he wished he might. After all, he had considered him closer than a brother at a moment in time where neither of them had people to consider true family. Ms. Ives and Sir Malcolm had taken Victor in like a son, and he wondered then if Henry was living amongst people he trusted, too, though he feared Henry was still with his father.

When Victor had his heart shattered and was at his lowest, he pleaded for Henry to come save him. That was the only time he’d thought it relevant to involve Henry in the disaster he’d concocted. Henry had always been his favorite healer.

Henry showed up, being that he was an inherently good person. Victor knew that he did not deserve Henry’s kindness, but talked to him just as bluntly as he had when they were in college. He hated to sound cold, but did not know how else to address the other.

He’d been granted the same opportunity that was stolen away from Henry. By all means, he should have hated himself for asking more from the man. But the sight of Henry’s face brought Victor relief so immense that he was immediately intoxicated by it. Once again, he was willing to subject himself to anything that might make Henry happier. If only Henry had wanted that from him, things might have been simpler between them.

For some reason of his own, Henry did not want Victor anymore. Instead, he wanted to rant about his achievements at work, to offer a diagnosis and a viable solution. He helped wean Victor off of morphine, but only ever touched Victor briefly to get a good look at his wrists.

Victor did not fully realize how deeply he longed for Henry’s touch until he was denied it.

Their time had far passed by the time that Lily was supposedly cured. Victor’s heart ached to be surrounded both by Lily’s suffering and Henry’s silent ambivalence. He wanted to be a better person, so he took from neither of them and instead gave them their freedom. Lily could have kicked Victor in the face, and he would have deserved it, but she simply left him alone with himself. Somehow that punishment was worse.

When Henry left Victor again, for the second notable time, Victor felt reinvigorated. His science had been successful, as had his moral compass guided him toward the kinder choice. Victor almost had faith in himself to do something monumentally good. 

Henry said goodbye with a smile on his face. His father had died, at last, and he was giddy. They should have celebrated together, but Henry left too quickly for Victor to stop him or ask him to stay a while longer. Anyway, they had been given a limited time and Victor did not want to waste his. He began on his way home and was briefly surprised by how dark the sky was for the middle of the morning. Still, nothing much phased him any longer.

The sun never rose that day, nor set at night. Victor could have turned back toward Bedlam but instead he locked himself inside his apartment. His victory with Lily had inspired him to make unfamiliar progress.

And when Henry didn’t write again, even after a month of absolute darkness, Victor figured he deserved that from him. He had been nothing but rude to Henry since first meeting him… but he’d also loved him, needed him, and relied on him for every step of the process that lead toward him being successful. They were the first to assure each other that their ridiculous aspirations were possible when they had each other alone to consult with in college. Victor briefly considered that his younger self and Henry’s younger self might never believe their destinies if they were prophesied to them. Nonetheless, these destinies were so-far magnificent, and Victor considered himself lucky to have had a companion like Henry who’d encouraged him to become the person he now was.

Victor deliberately stopped thinking about how he loved Henry, how he’d wanted to love Henry in some tangible way since he neglected to kiss him on that night when they slept together in the grass. It was much easier to not dwell on the things that he may never have, and instead to consider all the things that he’d been lucky enough to receive. He still wondered if he might someday be Henry’s first _something_ , though he knew better and wanted instead for Henry to become happy by marrying someone and living a kinder life with her. That was what Victor swore to himself.

When he met Dorian Gray, he’d never expected for his love to be more expansive than limited to a single body. Love seemed a kind of magic beyond measure. Dorian introduced Victor to a concept of love which freed him from constant anxiety, and he came out the other end wanting nothing more than to introduce Henry to these new concepts, too… to say that they were not limited like they had always thought. That even time stopped for some people, and perhaps it could stop for them too, and maybe then they would be suspended in that other place where they could be together like they wanted… and to say that he loved him much, much more than a friend should reasonably be allowed to love a friend. That _that_ may be another part of their destiny was more thrilling than anything.

**Author's Note:**

> So sooo sorry for taking forever to continue this series. It's been a wild month but this has been in the back of my head the whole time. Hopefully everybody else appreciates soft Jekyllstein as much as I do. <3 And, full disclosure: the movie 'Maurice' is set at Cambridge about 20 years after this fic is set so (naturally) I was envisioning all the tender scenes between Maurice and Clive when I was writing Henry and Victor. I'd highly recommend the movie to anyone who hasn't experienced it! 
> 
> This is all there is of Part 2... Part 3 will start up soon, and you can anticipate finally getting some Victor/Dorian/Henry content!


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